


More

by snoqualmie



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 2.3k of yahaba wildin' out, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-23
Updated: 2017-01-23
Packaged: 2018-09-19 10:17:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9435803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snoqualmie/pseuds/snoqualmie
Summary: His hands are everywhere, hot points of contact against Yahaba’s stomach, his back, his ribs. His breath is coming in little pants and he keeps mumbling things under his breath between kisses that Yahaba can’t quite catch.





	

**Author's Note:**

> YOWZA

Yahaba’s train is seventeen minutes late after he’s already walked from campus to the station in the pouring rain. His nose is cold, his phone is dead, and his umbrella is either at home or in the mathematics department building all the way back across campus. He gets elbowed in the side by another student on the train, someone else steps on his foot. He’s almost home when somebody streaks past him and forces him to step off the sidewalk, directly into a puddle that soaks his foot all the way up to his ankle. It takes him two tries to get his key in the lock of his apartment door, and by the time he’s toeing his sopping wet socks off in the genkan he’s about half a second away from punching a hole in the wall.

The floor is cold against his bare feet and he can hear his roommate in the kitchen, humming under his breath to the music he’s listening to. Yahaba scrunches his face. It’s sort of loud. He’s going to head straight for the bathroom for a shower but a hand shoots and catches him by the sleeve of his cardigan. He lets it happen. The music gets turned down to a soft murmur and Kyoutani raises his eyebrows at whatever look Yahaba’s got on his face.

Kyoutani is less wire and more bulk at nineteen. He takes up space and he pushes Yahaba right into the elbow where two sides of the counter meet and gives him a look. The edges dig into his back and it isn’t comfortable but he’s got other things on his mind, like the fact that Kyoutani is watching his mouth with this look on his face that says everything Yahaba needs to hear. He’s got his arms braced on either side of Yahaba when he murmurs a quiet “hey.” His eyes wander over Yahaba’s face slowly and he pulls his lower lip between his teeth when Yahaba hums a response. Kyoutani has these little bursts of steady confidence, sometimes, now that they’re older— not much, but definitely not sixteen and punching the shit out of each other— and they come when Yahaba is least expecting them. These moments where Kyoutani seems to remember that he can grab Yahaba by the shirt and reel him in for a hug whenever he wants. Moments where Kyoutani remembers that Yahaba’s decently moody but most of the time a little bit of kissing and then a whole lot of talking afterwards is generally the best fix for it.

Either way, Yahaba is just glad that they're on the same page most of the time. _Most_ of the time because despite the fact that Kyoutani has him pinned, there's nothing happening. Kyoutani is just smiling and bumping the tips of their noses together. Yahaba keeps tipping his face forward and Kyoutani keeps dodging his mouth with these infinitesimal movements that keep his lips just out of reach, barely brushing his. Yahaba wants to be kissed, not just breathed on. He wants to forget about his shitty day and not worry about the other shit he’s got to take care of in a minute. Kyoutani's mouth is right there and Yahaba can feel something buzzing under his skin.

“I made dinner,” Kyoutani says, lips brushing Yahaba’s as he talks, “but you're pretty late."

 _Yeah, no shit, Ken,_ Yahaba wants to say. He doesn’t, thought. He slides his hands up Kyoutani’s sides, down the planes of his back. He leans forward again, tilting his chin and trying to catch Kyoutani’s mouth. The thing is that Kyoutani isn’t even doing it on purpose. He probably doesn’t even get it. He just wants to be _this close_ and, apparently, start a conversation about dinner.

"I don't wanna talk," Yahaba says. It comes out breathy and almost cracks somewhere along the way but Kyoutani gets the message.

“Bad day?”

Kyoutani doesn't wait for an answer, he just closes the minimal distance between them and kisses Yahaba, _finally._

Yahaba slumps against the counter and forgets that it's digging into his back because Kyoutani is cupping the back of his head and his mouth is soft and they’re kissing. Once, twice, three times. Too short, too sweet. There definitely isn't enough tongue and there definitely aren't enough wandering hands. Yahaba grabs two fistfuls of Kyoutani's shirt and pulls him closer, parts his lips in a _give me more._ He lets out a noise that he didn't know he'd been holding in when Kyoutani's kisses turn open-mouthed, slow presses that make soft, wet noises when he pulls back to tilt his head or kiss the corner of Yahaba's mouth. Yahaba can tell that Kyoutani isn’t really making an effort for the moment to turn into anything more than what it already is by the relaxed slope of his shoulders and the lazy drag of his mouth. Yahaba wants more. Yahaba’s hands drop to the hem of Kyoutani's shirt and he pulls at it, frustrated. It's not enough. Kyoutani slides a hand up the back of his shirt and his palm is burning hot. It sends a chill down Yahaba’s spine and he arches into it, cocks his hip so Kyoutani gets the height advantage. Kyoutani should take advantage of the height advantage, Yahaba thinks. He really, really should.

Kyoutani is slow and steady when Yahaba wants fast and messy. He knows that Kyoutani would be happy to stand here for some ridiculously long stretch of time, kissing him deep and slow like they've got all the time in the world. They don't. If Yahaba has to wait any longer he's going to have to break out the little black box under his bed and take care of the situation himself. He keeps trying to get more. He’s rocking into Kyoutani, yanking at his shirt, scratching at the back of his neck, tugging at his hair. _Give me more._

There's this feeling pooling low in his stomach. This empty, aching heat that's just getting more and more persistent the longer they kiss. Yahaba can’t keep still. He keeps pushing forward, can't catch his breath. He shoves his hands down the back pockets of Kyoutani's jeans and maneuvers himself out of the corner. _Bedroom_ is what Yahaba is trying to say. The movement makes their kiss break with a wet sound. Kyoutani sucks in a heaving breath and lets Yahaba walk him towards the hallway. When he leans in to kiss at Kyoutani's face, his jaw, anything, Kyoutani grunts and cradles his face with both hands, bringing their mouths together again. Yahaba’s cheeks are ridiculously warm under Kyoutani’s palms and it should be embarrassing that he's this fucked from just making out in the kitchen like they’re in high school again but he can’t find it in himself to care.

Yahaba’s persistence manages to get them somewhat closer to where he wants to be but he still ends up with his back against the bathroom door as Kyoutani digs his fingers into his hips, which isn't awful. Yahaba shivers when Kyoutani rubs his thumbs into the barely-there jut of his hipbones. He rocks his hips forward instinctively because Kyoutani’s hands are so _close_ and he just wants to be _touched._ Kyoutani’s mouth is somewhere on his neck, not really kissing it, more mouthing at it and Yahaba’s breath is hitching but it's not enough. He wants everything.

“Touch me,” Yahaba breathes, shivering out a sigh when Kyoutani sucks at the hollow of his throat.

Something must click for Kyoutani when Yahaba gets the words out because then he's the one hiking Yahaba’s shirt up and pushing his thigh between his legs. His hands are everywhere, hot points of contact against Yahaba’s stomach, his back, his ribs. His breath is coming in little pants and he keeps mumbling things under his breath between kisses that Yahaba can’t catch. Yahaba’s groping blindly at the wall, inching his way closer and closer to the bedroom, whichever one he gets to first. It doesn’t matter. He wants Kyoutani on top of him five minutes ago. He also wants to grind down on the thigh pressed between his legs. He's vaguely aware, however, that in his current state he should probably only tackle one issue at a time. He is, on the flip side of that, very aware of how hard his hands are shaking, and of the noises he can't stop making. He sounds stupid, probably, because he can hear his breath puffing out too loudly. He can hear the whines and the moans he can't quite swallow. Kyoutani’s digging his blunt nails into Yahaba’s sides, sliding his hands to the small of his back and pressing his fingers into his spine. He’s pulling Yahaba closer, pressing him harder into the wall. It just feels so good and it’s so much to be happening all at once but it's been so long (but it’s not until about an hour later that Yahaba realizes “so long” was actually only a few days).

“Off,” Yahaba says. He's trying to grab the hem off Kyoutani’s shirt but his hands aren't working properly, can't catch the fabric.

Kyoutani leans away to pull it off and drop it by their feet. Yahaba’s follows and then there's a whole new expanse of smooth, warm skin for him to touch and Yahaba whines through his teeth. There are a lot of places Yahaba wants his mouth on but he settles for starting at Kyoutani’s jaw, going as slowly as he can manage all the way up to the hinge of his jaw, down the side of his neck. Kyoutani’s breathing gets shallow as Yahaba nips at the column of his throat. Yahaba’s skin is too tight, his heart is beating too hard. Kyoutani’s hand gets shoved between them and Yahaba’s knees go weak when Kyoutani palms at the front of his pants. Kyoutani catches Yahaba when he pitches forward and yards Yahaba up into his arms with a grunt.

By the time Yahaba’s flat on his back, his legs are shaking, too. He feels like he’s sixteen again, flushed and hot all over. It’s not enough. Yahaba squirms and pushes his hands between them, fumbling with the button of his pants, then with the button of Kyoutani’s—buttons? Yahaba feels his way down the fly of Kyoutani’s pants.

“Why?” Yahaba asks, breathlessly. “Why is there no zipper? Why are there so many buttons?”

“I don't know,” Kyoutani says. “They were just like this.”

Yahaba pauses and narrows his eyes at Kyoutani. He's flushed down to his chest and his eyes are unfocused and vaguely confused. He's holding himself over Yahaba easily, forearms braced on either side of his head. Yahaba pauses and touches Kyoutani’s cheek with the tips of his fingers, biting back a smile when Kyoutani leans into the touch and closes his eyes.  
Yahaba undoes the other two buttons and takes a deep breath.

“You're ridiculous.”

 _“I'm_ ridiculous?” Kyoutani’s eyebrows go up. “You're about to come in your pants from a little bit of smooching.”

The tension snaps and Yahaba puts both hands over Kyoutani’s face, “‘Smooching’? Really? You're a fucking asshole.”

Kyoutani snorts into Yahaba’s hands. “No, no, wait. That last sentence is a little bit wrong.”

“Holy shit,” Yahaba says, dropping his hands and tipping his head to the side when Kyoutani leans down to kiss his jaw. “I can't believe you just said that.”

He feels teeth on the curve where his neck meets his shoulder, too soft, too hesitant.

“Do it,” Yahaba mumbles into the hair above Kyoutani’s ear.

The sound that follows his comment is much less coherent as Kyoutani sinks his teeth into Yahaba’s shoulder. He wraps his legs around Kyoutani and squeezes, wants him closer. It's clumsy as all hell but Yahaba hooks his toes into the waist of Kyoutani’s pants and tries to force them down that way. He has to pause right in the middle of his endeavor because Kyoutani kisses the spot where he knows there’s a mole below his earlobe and it’s so stupidly charming that Yahaba almost chokes on the rush of affection that hits him in the chest.

Kyoutani’s nipping at the shell of his ear and while it's doing wonders for his dick, the effect on his motor skills isn't all too great. It sort of works, though, and if Kyoutani’s boxers get shoved down a half second later, neither of them are complaining. Yahaba wants to scratch his nails through the course hair below Kyoutani’s navel. He knows that the lower down he goes, the softer it gets. He wants to wrap his hands around Kyoutani, his mouth, anything. He squirms up, shifting his hips and kicking off his own pants. He wraps his legs back around Kyoutani and squeezes, wants him closer, pulls him down. Yahaba isn't really one for dramatics but a full body shudder is inevitable when Kyoutani rocks his hips down because _fuck_ , yes, _that's_ what Yahaba needs. The barely-there friction, the last layer of fabric between them, the groan muffled into the side of his neck. Hard heat between his legs, pressure, something to grind into. 

There's this insistent pressure building at the base of his spine, in the muscles of his thighs. It's that same aching feeling, like he won't be able to think straight until after this. His head is heavy, he wants to feel the stretch of his thighs pinned down, knees curled up towards his chest. He wants Kyoutani inside of him, like, yesterday. Kyoutani’s hand makes hard contact with the nightstand to his left and he knocks something over in his haste to get the drawer open.

Yahaba is just glad that they're on the same page.

**Author's Note:**

> i cant stop thinking about kissing  
> thank u to izzy (issza on here) for beta-ing and screaming with me over kyhba  
> u can follow me on twitter @kaileyleg if u want


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